Jester, Make a Fool Out of Me
by ryeden
Summary: He did not shiver, did not cower in on himself in the blank openness of the dark sky. He unwound his bony arms from his aching body and held them in balled fists, directed towards the ground he didn't dare himself to walk upon. Only then, in the solitude of the night's emptiness, did he allow himself to cry. Tendershipping. No smut.
1. Prologue

**SHIT INTRO THING**

I do not have any, and nor do I claim any ownership of Yu-Gi-Oh! and it's characters; I'm merely a fan with too much time on their incapable hands. (I so want to own YGO now.)

Inspired by the songs **Plans** by Bloc Party and **The Trickster** by Radiohead. If you know these songs, I love you.

**Warning:** This story will possibly contain implied rape, self-harm, drug use, vivid hallucinations, sexual encounters, mentions of attempted suicide, character death and other extremely unlucky adult situations. These are just precautions, and content is definitely subject to change. But don't kill me if I ruined your innocent mind (though that'd be quite an achievement considering some of the content on this site). There also might be some coarse language, though I'll try to keep it to a minimum if there is.

The rating, however, will not deviate from what I've chosen. I don't believe it to be suitable for a younger audience (though I doubt that'd stop them from reading anyway).

Contains yaoi (ie – boyxboy), though this isn't smut. For those that don't wish to believe it, let me repeat it again; no lemon, no smut, no questionable conduct of a citrusy flavour. There is sex, but it's mostly implied.

Mostly consists of tendershipping (Ryou x Yami Bakura), but also has mentions of angstshipping (Ryou x Marik) and blueshipping (Kaiba x Kisara). There may be more pairings in the future.

Sorry to waste your time, but a warning was obviously necessary. Though I doubt you actually read it. Gah, whatever. Feel free to shoot me any questions/reviews. Or, just shoot me, I guess.

-Zlae

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

"Don't," he demanded through shaking lips as calloused fingertips began caressing his sides. It was like friction, raising the hairs on his arms and coiling within him like a tense snake, waiting to strike and lash out. The hands continued, and he squeezed his eyes so hard he thought the skin would tear, so that he would have no option but to stare at the face of his assailant. "Please," he whispered, as a single tear fell without his command. Was that what he had intended? Did he mean to disallow this ravaging of his fragile body? Or was he asking, unbeknownst to himself, for the hands to continue to roam, to give him this satisfaction he didn't believe he deserved?

How long had it been since he had allowed human contact? How long, for someone to look at him with genuine appreciation in their eyes, and not cringe at the scars that adorned his shrunken body? Far too long, since he could not remember the last time a fleeting touch had made bumps arise from his pale skin.

His eyes roamed within their respective lids, as if aware of the blackness that encompassed them, but not making any move to break free. As if they were content with their situation and made no move to stop it. All he could see was black. All there ever will be is a small stain, such is the unimportant event known as his life. And yet, he didn't think he was dissatisfied with this. To not know used to tear him apart with questions.

Now it was just easier not to bother. That is why he made no real effort to resist the situation that faced him now – it would come and go, and he would live on. He would endure, as he always did. But still he could not stop the tear that courageously escaped.

The uninvited man growled softly, lifting the arm that had previously been pinning the other's to the wall. Instead he opted for an almost frightening display of control, letting the hints of a sardonic smile appear on his lips as they twisted upwards. He leaned forward at an achingly slow pace, leaving the pinned man with nothing to think about but the horrid anticipation of their lips meeting. His eyes remained closed as he felt cold lips press against his, the scars of his own compared to the smooth nothingness of the attacker creating a rough contrast of differently led lives. The salt and self-pity that was his tears mingled in their one-sided kiss, and he knew the other could taste it, too.

He felt strangely vulnerable then, as if he had let the man see a side of him that begged for an ounce of understanding. It was as if he was a scared animal, giving into defeat and letting the larger animal smell his fear. But he would get no understanding from a disgusting man that had no one to love him, thus causing him to force himself onto others.

Sharp fingernails dug into his arm as the ravaging of his mouth continued. The pinned man did nothing; not even respond. The assaulter bit the other's bottom lip, drawing blood. More tears pricked his eyes as the man forced his way into his mouth. Attempting some sort of defiance, the pinned man turned his pale head to the side, just as the man's unused arm snaked upwards. He gripped the pinned man's jaw with white fingertips, forcing their eyes to meet.

Then almond met almond, and the prey could almost swear he was watching a twisted version of himself, finally become the predator upon his own, disarrayed mind. It was true; there was no one to love him, not even this parody of himself. There was confusion; a moment of stilled, shocked silence. The man's lips were moving, but he couldn't hear anything; the world was tearing apart, and he was just barely clinging onto the frays of his presumed reality.

As he opened his bruised mouth to scream, there was white, as if the world had finally decided to shed light on this sin he had unwillingly indulged in.

* * *

Tell me what you think!

Reviews, suggestions, comments, etc.

Phew, all done.


	2. Alarm

**Disclaimer:** I have no rights to Yu-Gi-Oh! or its characters. I'm merely a fan. I make no profit from this story whatsoever.

Well, here's chapter one!

-Zlae

* * *

CHAPTER 1 – ALARM:

* * *

There was a pause. It was small, and it was unintentional, but it was a pause nonetheless. The man opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He was an intimidatingly attractive man, with shoulder-length brown hair and icy-blue eyes.

"So, this man; Ryou Bakura, has no living relatives, no place of residence, no close friends, and has been wrestling with self-inflictions for three years." He sighed, not finished with the depressing list that had befallen the near-twenty-three year old. "He has also recently battled a drug addiction, and was discharged from a mental institution only two months ago."

The skittish runner just nodded anxiously, eager to get out of this seemingly frightening man's presence as quickly as possible. "…Lovely," he said with a weary sigh, slumping down as he cradled his head in his hands, in deep thought. He waved his hands in dismissal, and the runner stayed true to her name, fleeing as quickly as possible.

His eyes roamed, fixating on the photo frame that broadcasted the happiness he had once shared with his wife; a beautiful young woman with stunning white hair and a fragility he couldn't help but try to protect. "I'd try and kill myself if all of that shit happened to me, too," he whispered to the unoccupied air.

* * *

Ryou was falling. He was falling inside the black, with nothing for his flailing hands to grip. He could see nothing, and yet he could feel penetrative glares fix him into the falling air. His skin began to chill, and he could barely supress the shivers that coursed through his frail body. Opening his scarred mouth, he inhaled a lungful of air that was seemingly endless. He tried to scream, and no sound escaped his lips. The sound was stolen by the wind, floating up through the atmosphere.

Instead, he looked down, and saw the stained pavement. He tried to move, to escape this nightmare. But his muscles were still; his cheeks were frozen in a panicked smile, caused by the force of the air flying into his opened mouth from the attempted scream. All that could move was his panicked eyes, continuously moving back in forth within their prison, as if searching for an escape from the inevitable future that awaited him.

As the time sped up and the bloodstained ground rushed up to meet him, he couldn't close his eyes. Pain ricocheted throughout his entire body; it was as if there were a million men, ripping apart the frays that seamed him shut. Blackness clouded his vision and he opened his mouth, waiting to hear no sound. But his lungs screamed at him, and such a deafening scream made blood trickle out of his ears. It stained the white, supposedly pure colour of his hair with red.

As he shattered into a million pieces like glass, an unwelcome memory intruded his vision; the beginning of the downwards spiral that was his current state.

* * *

Almond-coloured eyes opened, and Ryou feared he would see the broken pieces that formed him. His fears did not fabricate, and instead, he was a younger him of twenty, foolish and easily influenced. He wasn't a bad kid; not yet, anyway. He looked around, and his eyes bore witness to the night that changed his happily-led life. Panic pumped through him, he tried to run. But his body was not his own, he was an anachronism; he didn't belong at this time. All he could do was watch through his misled eyes as his hesitant, unblemished hands reached for the pill.

"C'mon man, just take it! Know what it's like to live a free life, away from these fuckers and their expectations!" The boy – and his older self – looked up at the man that had outstretched his hands that looked so clean. But Ryou, older and more experienced, knew the blood, sweat and tears that had encased those hands. He'd fired guns, touched bodies, exchanged money, taken drugs, and indulged in all other sorts of debauchery with those calloused hands. He wasn't the person he used to be.

"Marik," Ryou hissed to himself, wishing to tear apart the man he had thought was his lover. What a foolish, unforgivable mistake. Ryou froze as his younger self reached towards the pill, seemingly comforted by the easy smile Marik had provided. Ryou knew it was sinister, coated with horrible intentions. But his younger self had refused to believe that his then-boyfriend had anything but best wishes for him. Oh, how foolish he was.

"Don't!" Ryou yelled to himself, trying to get through to the clouded mind he inhabited. "Don't do it!" He yelled again, hoping he could prevent the pathetic excuse of a man he had become. How ironic, to know that he was screaming at his younger self the same way his conscience had at him that day.

Time did not freeze, nor did it slow. His hands did not falter, and they encased the hands that had roamed over his body countless times. He took the pill into his own smooth hands as a pleased smile appeared on Marik's undeniably handsome face.

* * *

Marik moved forward, and Ryou remembered this part no matter how many times he scrubbed his skin and willed it to go away. They were in a rented room with broken shutters and flickering lights. The wallpaper had mould creeping up and dirty clothes adorned the floor gracelessly. Marik's hands caressed his chest, and Ryou's stomach fluttered; whether in dread or anticipation, he couldn't tell. Marik pushed him down onto the bed, and the pill was momentarily forgotten. Clothes were quickly torn from each other's bodies. Outside of the room it was silent. It was an eerie silence, blanketing all sound except their hurried breaths mingling together. Ryou closed his ethereal eyes, not willing to relive this part of his life again.

* * *

When he reopened them, they were both sprawled naked on the bed, and he was still watching through the ignorant eyes of his younger self. Marik's lean body had countless scratches of Ryou's doing, and Ryou's pale, shaking body curled up into a ball. One of Marik's arms lay possessively on Ryou's shoulders, as if claiming him as his own. Ryou had unsteadily slipped out of Marik's strange embrace and quietly walked towards the balcony. His footsteps were almost as light as his breathing, and he opened the ungreased door at an agonisingly slow speed, making sure it didn't squeak. Walking out of the warm but unpleasant room, he shut the door behind him, still making no sound.

As the cool air assaulted his body, he looked out into the night. He did not shiver, did not cower in on himself in the blank openness of the dark sky. He unwound his bony arms from his aching body and held them in balled fists, directed towards the ground he didn't dare himself to walk upon. Only then, in the solitude of the night's emptiness, did he allow himself to cry.

* * *

"Check on the patient," the man commanded without question, absent-mindedly twisting a pen around with his thumb and forefinger. A blonde haired woman looked up and realised she was being addressed by him.

"Right away, sir!" She squeaked, just before hurriedly walking away in her uncomfortable-looking heels.

"You'd think people would stop acting so terrified around me after going to all these lengths to conceal my identity," Seto mused. He was no longer the hotshot billionaire, Seto Kaiba. Instead, he was the intelligent doctor, Kaito Base. It wasn't that hard to figure out, but most people wouldn't believe he was the man anyway, which was a bonus. While he still maintained a cold, arrogant attitude, he had been slipping as of late. Instead of letting the assistants leave with a biting insult, he'd been rather silent and subdued.

"Damn it, Mokuba," Seto mumbled to himself, still dwelling on thoughts of the brother that would always remain little to him.

"Kaito, sir?" He heard the obnoxious yelling of that same woman, and began berating himself for thinking of firing her almost immediately. '_Old habits die hard,_' he thought with an internal smile. She seemed rather shaken, and Seto didn't bother to let that affect him. If she wanted his attention, she was going to walk up to him and stop being so brash.

Unfortunately, that method wasn't working.

Sighing inaudibly, he stood up from his comfortable office chair and snapped in an equally loud voice, "What is it?" He could almost hear the surprise from where she stood, and he just chose to ignore it. "Well?" He prompted, losing his patience until his eyes saw something.. strange.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, immediately brought back to reality. Distantly, he was aware of hearing the slight shuffle of documents, but his mind hadn't really registered it. "It's about that other patient, Ryou… Bakura?" Her voice gained a higher pitch at the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question. But Seto didn't feel the need to reassure her, and even if he wasn't preoccupied, he probably wouldn't have anyway.

At that moment, his attention was completely captured by what he had just seen on Ryou Bakura's heart monitor.

* * *

Ooh, cliffhanger!

I hope I'm not completely predictable.

That would suck ass.

Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind, but when Seto's not spoken to, I'll address him as Seto and not Kaito.

So, the usual – reviews and comments are appreciated!

Thanks!


	3. False

So, here's chapter two. Yeah, short chapter. I haven't been in the mood lately.

The next one will be longer, I hope.

**Disclaimer:**_ I have no rights to Yu-Gi-Oh! and it's characters, this is purely fanmade and I gain no profit from this._

I already have this planned out; I just need to write it and upload it.

Read and review!

_- zlae_

* * *

CHAPTER 2 - FALSE:

* * *

Ryou was dying.

He knew it, and honestly, he wasn't really alarmed by it. After all, what would he leave behind for the world besides another decaying corpse contaminating the earth? Every time in this ethereal state, he would feel his mind fall apart by another fraction. How long had it been since he had fallen into this comatose state? Days? Weeks? Perhaps even years? How long, until he could escape this continuously changing place his mind inhabited?

Would he ever be able to escape? He imagined it now, an unknown prison kept on a high hill, isolated and yet still shown to the world. It was just a museum, to show off the freaks that inhabited it. He attempted to see himself rolling down the hill with a vibrant smile on his expressive face, delight in his bright eyes. His faceless friends would laugh along with him, no longer dirt-covered and scruffy; but clean and untainted. The rays of sunlight would trickle through the slight clouds as if in celebration; the sky would be blue and endless.

It was almost childlike in purity, and completely childlike in its naivety. He couldn't get the image of a number pasted on his striped, uniformed garb out of his mind.

He was no one, not even worthy of a name to call his own.

He was just a number, mourned for a moment and then forgotten.

He frowned. Every time he wanted to see himself taking off his shackles, it'd black out.

He continued to try, and he reached down to the shackles on his legs, attempting to pull them off. They weighed too much; he wasn't strong enough to create his own freedom. He sat down on the dying grass, frowning when he saw new handcuffs around his wrists. He flailed and flailed, wrenching his arms violently in an attempt to break them. But all that happened was a harsh vibration running through his bones, and his teeth chattered from the force. He snapped them apart again, and the only results were the bruises covering his too-pale skin.

* * *

"Kaito!" The woman yelled in shock, and Seto rushed to Ryou's body, his eyes widening as Ryou began flailing and bucking violently, his fingernails clawing at his arms. The heart monitor was spiking dangerously. Ryou was trying to rip the tubes out of his arm, and his fingers were clawed like talons; his eyes open and frantic, but not seeing anything. His pupils were small and extremely sensitive to the well-lit intensive care unit. Seto gripped the patient's arms and pushed them into the mattress, nodding at his assistant as she hesitantly retrieved some lengths of cloth stuffed into one of the drawers.

He noticed her hands were shaking.

"Go, do it!" He yelled, and she needed no further encouragement. She wrapped the cloth around the tubes protruding from his skin, and Seto let go.

"Give him anything that will calm him down," he commanded, and she did so immediately. Modifying the contents of Ryou's drip, she sighed in relief and left the patient by himself in the room, making sure to check on him often.

Seto winced and looked back at the monitor; it had returned to normal.

'_Good.'_

He stood and left. His brother needed him right now; this Ryou could wait. Nothing was more important than Mokuba.

_Ever._

* * *

Ryou was lost again within the confines of his mind. Around him he saw an old street, with ghosts resembling bystanders. There was no sound besides his breathing, and even that felt too loud, as if it was purposely disrupting the eerie atmosphere.

"Who are you?" A deep voice demanded, and Ryou turned, confused.

In front of him stood a taller, more confident version of himself, and Ryou stood there with his mouth gaping open.

"Why the fuck are you in my—" The other man stopped then, and noticed. He was staring so intently that Ryou was feeling incredibly uncomfortable under his penetrative gaze. His chest wasn't even rising or falling; he was just looking, trying to make sense of the situation.

Ryou frowned; something about this man was so** painfully** familiar, but his mind was so disoriented that he wouldn't be able to remember anything at this current moment.

He opened his mouth to question who the man was, until the stranger rushed forward, slamming Ryou against a brick wall he hadn't known existed. His head jerked back from the force and smashed into the bricks, and he felt blood running down his white hair, staining it an impure colour.

"Why are _you_ here?" He snarled, openly hostile and eyes screaming murder.

His oesophagus was being cut off, and he couldn't breathe properly, so his breaths came in long, shallow wheezes.

"What... are you… talking… about?" He managed to squeeze through, and his arms reached up in hopeless but desperate attempts at getting a lungful of air.

"You shouldn't be alive!" He yelled furiously, his hands pressing harder into Ryou's thin throat.

Ryou's limbs were getting heavier; his efforts of protest were becoming weaker.

"I thought my humanity had died a long time ago," the man whispered to himself, staring at the slumped figure with his eyes finally displaying the disbelief and confusion he felt.

Then Ryou's body gave way and he collapsed onto the dirty floor, breathing quick breaths through his unconscious state.

* * *

I don't know if any of you are interested in this, but here are some facts, thanks to Wikipedia:

_"Pinpoint" pupils indicate heroin or opiate overdose, and can be responsible for a patient's coma._

_A person in a coma may become restless, or seize and need special care to prevent them from hurting themselves. Medicine may be given to calm such individuals. Patients who are restless may also try to pull on tubes or dressings so soft cloth wrist restraints may be put on. Side rails on the bed should be kept up to prevent patient from falling._


End file.
